


Undying Compassion

by NinPotato



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: (past) - Freeform, Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Angst, Child Death, Dark Will Graham, Dehydration, Disasters, Empath Will Graham, Hannibal Lecter Loves Will Graham, Holding Hands, Hope vs. Despair, Implied Underage Alcohol Consumption, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Post-Season/Series 03 AU, Season 4 AU, Starvation, Will Graham Loves Hannibal Lecter, Zombie Apocalypse, death and decay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:00:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27783379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NinPotato/pseuds/NinPotato
Summary: After their fall from the cliff, Will Graham wakes to find himself in a very different world from the one he used to know.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 18
Kudos: 93
Collections: ThisIsMyBeginning





	1. Intro

**Author's Note:**

> This was meant to be a oneshot for an event but I had so many people asking for more and there really aren't enough zombie AUs for this pairing, so it's now an in-progress work! I do not have a set update schedule as there are two other in-progress series I'm currently working on with higher priority. I recommend subscribing instead of just bookmarking if you want to know as soon as this is updated, or you can follow me on my other social media (provided in end notes) for sneak previews.

Will wakes to the sound of utter chaos.

The screams alone are enough to convince him to keep his eyes shut. The gunfire, sirens, shattering glass, and occasional explosions are overkill, really.

Overkill - like their fall from the cliff after their battle with Dolarhyde.

Will opens his eyes, expecting to see a warzone, the bottom of the Atlantic, the inside of a jail cell, or perhaps even the face of the devil himself, but what he does see is mostly nothing. It's too dark, and it's with a sense of nausea that he realizes he must be in a moving vehicle. Another explosion and then Will can see a power line spark and catch into flames through the back windows. It disappears so quickly Will determines he must not be on his way to or from prison; that kind of transport vehicle would never drive so carelessly. He tries to pull himself up but there's something tugging on his arm. He feels for it with the other, intrigue growing as he determines it to be an IV line. Whoever is driving must not want him dead. Best try and keep it that way.

Before he can begin to formulate a reasonable plan of action, the vehicle skids to a stop with such force that Will is thrown into the back of the seat behind him. Without time to react properly, he cries out at the impact.

"Will?"

Will stops breathing at the sound of his voice. Despite or maybe even because it was the last thing he heard before the water filled his ears, it was the last thing he expected to hear now. The relief it brings him is overwhelming.

"Can you move, Will?"

"What?" Will croaks, concerned with how strange his throat feels.

Whoever-no, Hannibal, Will corrects himself, opens a door up front. He thinks for only a second that perhaps his reluctance to move in the way requested has caused Hannibal to leave him behind. He's prepared to beg Hannibal not to leave him when the doors behind him open. Hannibal is standing there, backlit by flames and looking more like some ethereal being than man as he peers down at Will.

"We need to go, Will. Can you move?"

"I think so," Will says as he wiggles his toes, feeling like he's only just now found out about them.

Hannibal clambers up into the van. He glances behind them at the sound of nearby gunfire, then squats in front of Will when he's satisfied there's no danger to them.

"Try to stand," he says, "I'll help you."

Hannibal removes the IV and Will's surprised again by how strange it feels to use his legs. He would surely have fallen on his ass were Hannibal not there to assist.

"What's going on?" Will demands as soon as they're out of the van.

"No time to explain now," Hannibal dodges, "We need to reach the safe house first."

"Safe house, what safe house? Where-"

Will is interrupted by the unexpected arrival of a rather curious looking individual. It appears to be a young woman; thin and blonde. She's behaving strangely, swaying from side to side as she approaches them. Will can't quite tell in the dark, but she seems to be injured. What has Will most concerned, though, is the clicking and snarling noises she's making.

"Allow me to demonstrate," Hannibal says.

Hannibal leaves Will leaning up against the van as he pulls a blood-stained machete out of the holster on his belt. He walks casually but carefully towards the strange woman whose alarmingly animal noises have become loud enough for Will to doubt her humanity.

Will was right to do so, it seems, as the woman suddenly charges at Hannibal, arms flailing wildly as she snaps at where his shoulder would have been had he not dodged in time, dragging the edge of his machete along her stomach. She stumbles, but doesn't seem all too bothered by the wound as she turns and lunges at Hannibal again, only to be met with a blade thrust into her face.

Will watches in disgusted fascination as she goes quiet and stops moving immediately. Hannibal lets her body slump to the ground with the machete still lodged between her eyes, checking to make sure Will is still watching. He turns back to the corpse then, placing a boot on her head to better dislodge the machete, which he wipes the blood and grey matter from onto the grass.

"They're everywhere," he says, "and not everyone knows how to stop them."

"Well, I'm sure glad you figured it out," Will admits, debating whether he should use the term 'zombie' or not.

It seems like a good match, but it also leaves a bad taste in his mouth. Referring to something so real as a pop fiction monster, that is.

"Indeed, but we really must get moving," Hannibal says, "the undead are everywhere. The living aren't much kinder. Come."

Hannibal beckons for Will to follow him through a small gate with a "no trespassing" sign hanging on it. Will grabs it as he passes through and tosses it over his shoulder. The law matters not in times such as these, but there's something immensely satisfying in breaking it so easily with no repercussions.

Will is beginning to think this turn of events may not be so terrible when Hannibal stops suddenly. He puts a single finger to his lips as he crouches, gesturing for Will to do the same. As they crawl through the tall grass between two fences, Will catches a glimpse of an uncomfortably large gathering of undead in the parking lot of what looks to be a police station.

A _Michigan_ police station.

Will is overburdened with questions again, but he doesn't dare attract the attention of so many hazards while he and Hannibal are in such a vulnerable position. With no way of knowing where they're actually going, it wouldn't do to get separated. They move as quietly as possible until they reach a mostly empty street after at least fifteen agonizing minutes. There are only two undead lingering nearby and they come straight for Hannibal as soon as he emerges.

"Don't let them bite or scratch you," Hannibal warns as he hands Will a large knife.

"Understood," Will says, bewildered by his own enthusiasm.

He keeps low to the ground, easily staying out of reach of the towering male and driving his knife through the top of its throat, angled upwards. It collapses to the ground as soon as he withdraws the knife. The other undead is in a similar state when he looks over. Will meets Hannibal's eyes and for a moment, everything is right with the world. He detects the smallest hint of anxiety and desperation hidden within them and retracts that thought.

He doesn't have the slightest clue what's going on or what Hannibal's had to do to get them here. He doesn't know how much time has passed since the cliff house, or if that even really happened. As the two of them climb into the car Hannibal apparently had waiting for them, Will takes a deep breath and steels himself for whatever the truth may be. Unfortunately, he can’t seem to find the courage to ask before they’re back on the road again.

Now that Will's sitting in the passenger seat of a shiny new BMW, it's easier to see just how bad of a state this place is in. Every building they've passed so far has been boarded up probably long before things got this bad. None of the people they pass by are still alive. They stand still as statues until approached, brought to a state which resembles life at the sound of movement. They chase after, coming together like an uncoordinated swarm of insects. It would be more concerning had Hannibal not been going nearly eighty miles an hour, dodging every obstacle with practiced ease.

"Did you used to street race or something?" Will jests, attempting to lighten the mood a bit.

"No," Hannibal says with a smile, "but I have found myself in situations where I needed to leave a scene quick, fast, and in a hurry."

"Not that I don't trust you," Will begins, realizing too late how absurd it sounds after everything that's happened, "but I'd prefer if we didn't die during the apocalypse in a car accident, of all things."

"I'm not sure I'd call this the apocalypse, but I must agree. It would be a rather disappointing way to die with everything going on around us," says Hannibal.

It's relatively quiet for a few minutes. Enough so for Will to wonder if they really are the only living people left in this particular area. The bridge they cross over seems mostly empty, save for a few abandoned vehicles and undead. Hannibal swerves to avoid one of them, but clips another with the driver's side mirror hard enough to lose it.

"It is a good thing I have you for a mirror," Hannibal says.

His tone isn't entirely joking, but it's for some reason the most hilarious thing Will has heard in his life. He bursts into breathless laughter, totally uncaring of the curious glances he's getting from Hannibal.

"Christ," Will sputters once he's mostly calmed down, "This whole situation is absurd."

"Indeed."

"Speaking of, what IS it? A virus? A bioweapon of some kind? Some fucked up prank? Hell itself?"

Will may have told himself he was going to save all the questions for this "safe house", but he can't stand the quiet and he also can't be expected to hold himself back from addressing the bloody elephant in the car for the entire duration of their ride.

He needs answers fast before he really does lose his mind this time.

"It is believed to be a bio weapon of sorts, yes. It's unknown who or where the source is, but the popular theory before everything descended into chaos was that a Russian operative had brought it over and released it on U.S. soil, declaring war."

"That's ridiculous."

"I agree," Hannibal says, making a sharp turn left to avoid a fallen street lamp, "But the other theories were even more so."

As Will had suspected, Hannibal's words imply that some time has passed since the last time Will was conscious.

He doesn't want to know; doesn't want to return to the old Will who lost time and blundered about without a clue; the Will who trusted in Hannibal and sorely regretted it. Only he'll find out eventually, so he may as well ask Hannibal now.

"How long... How long was I out?" Will asks, unable to do so in anything but a whisper.

He's thinking perhaps Hannibal didn't hear him, and that it's fine if so because he suddenly very much regrets bothering to ask, but then Hannibal whispers back,

"Six months."

Will turns to look at him properly, blinking rapidly like he'll manage to dislodge this nightmare from his eyes if he tries hard enough.

"How?"

"You hit your head on the way down. You fell into a coma. I had begun to think you may never wake again."

Will is hit with the very much uninvited image of a desperate, hopeful Hannibal dragging his unresponsive body through countless throngs of undead. It disturbs him nearly as much as this whole situation. He hopes this safe house isn't much further; he doesn't think he can handle not having the other man's full attention for much longer.

At the sound of someone shouting, Will’s attention is directed towards what appears to be a real living person waving their arms about from where they’ve climbed on top of a bus. It’s hard to tell exactly, but it appears this person is trying to flag them down. Will thinks he can see a few undead circling the bus as well.

“Tough luck,” Will says, but Hannibal’s slowing down.

Will raises an eyebrow at him. He follows Hannibal’s meaningful glance towards the gas gauge, then takes another look at the stranded person. It’s not just them up there, he recognizes, spotting a couple gas cans and other useful-looking items at their feet. Still, he’s not quite sure it’s worth it.

“Can’t we get gas somewhere else?” Will asks.

“Theoretically,” Hannibal says, “But it was, predictably, one of the first commodities to run dry. There’s a good chance this person will be willing to part with theirs in exchange for safe passage.”

“In theory,” Will says, “It could also be a trap.”

“More people, more goods.”

Will blinks and they’re on the cliff again, Dolarhyde’s corpse at their feet. They survived the dragon; could they not also survive a possible half-assed attempt on their lives such as this?

“Let’s find out, then.”

They split up this time, after confirming there are no more moving undead inside the fence than the three or four near the bus. There doesn’t appear to be any additional living individuals nearby either. Every one of Will’s senses is screaming that it must be a trap, that it can’t be this easy. Still, they encounter no real difficulty on their mission. Just in case the person on the bus is not actually in danger, they don’t announce their presence. They sneak around the cars while the undead are distracted by all the ruckus their potential meal is making.

“Fuck! Where’d they go?!”

That voice sounds...oddly familiar. Will’s eyes meet Hannibal’s through the broken window of an old Chevy just long enough for Will to catch a spark of recognition in them, too. Will gestures unnecessarily with his knife towards the two undead on the left side like Hannibal didn’t already know they were his. They both dart forwards at the same time, making quick work of their oblivious targets.

“You can come down now,” Will announces, “We won’t bite.”

It’s quiet. Almost silent, actually. It remains so for long enough that Will begins to wonder if the person they took time out of their day to save has died of fright in the process.

“...Will?”

Brian Zeller’s head appears as he leans over the edge of the bus to peer down at Will in disbelief. What are the odds?

“Will Graham? In the flesh?”

“That’d be me,” Will says, face as serious as he can keep it while fighting off another bout of manic laughter.

“What are the odds…” Brian mumbles, echoing Will’s own thoughts, “Look, I don’t know how the hell you ended up out here or how you’re even alive, but I sure am glad to see you at this particular juncture.”

He disappears for a moment to grab some of his things, then drops them over the side of the bus for Will to catch. Two full gas canisters, a bag of canned food and other goods, batteries, various hand tools, two flashlights, a radio, and a first aid kit. It’s a wonder he managed to get it all up there with him: Will says as much aloud.

“The human body is capable of some truly extraordinary things when under intense pressure,” Brian says, “and was I mistaken or did you say ‘we’ a second ago-”

Will has to cough to hide his laugh at the look of abject terror on Brian’s face when Hannibal emerges from around the back of the bus.

“I did,” he says once he’s sure his voice won’t betray his amusement.

“...That would explain how you’re still alive,” Brian says through clenched teeth, “Wow. I must look quite the fool right now, thinking I was just being rescued.”

“It was his idea,” Will says, gesturing towards Hannibal, “I was content to ignore you.”

“You are free to join us,” Hannibal says, “Unless you would prefer to wait at this location until the horde inevitably chases you out.”

Brian eyes the two of them suspiciously but doesn’t try to reach for his things or run. After a moment of deliberation, he heaves a resigned sigh and bends down to pick up one of the bags in each hand.

“Uncertain death it is, then,” he says.

Will and Hannibal each take a bag and a gas canister, and then the three of them quickly make their way back to the car. Will has vastly overestimated his strength, it seems, as he has to put everything back down not even halfway. Embarrassed, he tries to keep relatively quiet as he doubles over to catch his breath. He clearly fails as Hannibal is at his side in seconds.

“Take as much time as you need,” he says, “I’ll trade my flashlights for your gas.”

Will laughs. He never thought he would see Hannibal Lecter bartering for common household goods either seriously or as a joke. What has the world come to?

“What’s going on?” Bryan asks, approaching cautiously, “Why are we stopping?”

“Haven’t lifted my arms in six months,” Will says, “Apparently.”

“You...Oh. You weren’t around for any of this, were you?”

“Doesn’t matter. I’m here now,” Will says, straightening up again and stretching.

He doesn’t like the reluctant pity he hears in Brian’s voice one bit. When Hannibal reaches for the gas canister, Will swats his hand away.

“It’s fine,” he says as he heaves it up onto his shoulder.

He bends back down to get the bag and swings that over his shoulder as well. It’s far from comfortable, but it’ll surely be easier to manage than the way he was carrying it earlier. Hannibal takes a second to look him over, like he’s analyzing a machine for flaws. When none are found, he nods his head once and on they go.

“Where...how did you...you know what, nevermind. I don’t wanna know,” Brian says once they reach the car.

It’s not until they’re packing everything into the trunk that Will realizes Hannibal hadn’t brought much of anything with them. They may very well have gone hungry for who knows how long, had they not rescued Brian. Once again, Will is overwhelmed by the sheer volume of questions he needs answers to.

Brian hesitates to get into the back seat for a second, but at Hannibal’s reminder of what awaits him should he stay, he reluctantly climbs in.

“Guns?” Will asks, twisting uncomfortably in his seat to peer at Brian.

“What about them?”

“Do you know where we can get any? Knives work just fine on the undead, but it’s unrealistic to think they’re the only ones we’ll have to deal with.”

Brian shakes his head. “Lost mine when me and Jimmy got separated.”

“I assume you were working when it happened, then,” Hannibal says.

“...Yeah. Never thought there’d be a time when the case itself would try to kill me.”

“You were investigating this?” Will asks.

Brian nods. “Yep. Lansing was the epicenter, we lost contact with the entire city maybe two, three months ago? Time is relative. Anyways, headquarters sent everyone who could go to find out what happened. We only saw a little of the mess beforehand; cell phone videos and whatnot. We expected terrorism or something, not the goddamn zombie apocalypse.”

“Can’t say I was either,” Will admits, “Then again, I guess I wasn’t expecting much of anything considering I was unconscious for half a year.”

“Christ. This is the last thing I’d want to wake up to.”

Will shrugs, glancing over at Hannibal.

“It could have been worse.”

Brian rolls his eyes. “Whatever you say.”

No one speaks for close to an hour on the road. While Brian appears to be dozing off, Will is trying his best to better come to terms with what’s happened. He understands the present danger and the rules of engagement with it. That’s the easy part; the one he has to deal with in order to survive. The difficult part is comprehending just how much time has passed him by. Hannibal’s appearance hints at it, but he’s still the same man Will remembers from the cliff. Will feels physically different himself, yes, but that could be explained away by trauma. Will could still be asleep, even. He’s heard of a man who lived an entire life in a dream, only to wake up and realize that none of it had happened. It’s possible something similar could be happening to Will now. That would certainly explain the absurdity of it all.

If it isn’t a dream, though. What should he do? He’s got no better choice than to stay with Hannibal, obviously, but what exactly does that entail now? Do they wander the scorched Earth like a couple vagabond killers, hacking and slashing their way through every obstacle? Do they join a camp somewhere and try to fit in? Do they adapt to this new world, or do they try to live like nothing has changed? Could they be successful? Could they get to this safe house Hannibal mentioned and live out the rest of their lives in peace, far away from all the chaos and destruction?

No, Will tells himself, Hannibal himself is the physical embodiment of chaos and destruction. He brings it with him wherever he goes. So long as Will stays by his side, he’ll never achieve something like peace. Not in this world nor the one before it.

Could he kill him, then? If it came down to it, could he kill Hannibal in cold blood? Could the blood still be considered cold after everything he’s suffered at Hannibal’s hands? Would it even be a surprise to him, when Will’s tried it so many times prior? Would he _forgive_ Will the attempt?

No, Will thinks as he remembers what Hannibal said just before Dolarhyde’s attack:

_‘My compassion for you is inconvenient.’_

Inconvenient, like having to rig an IV setup in a rusted old van. Like having to drag an unconscious man’s dead weight around while on the run from both the authorities and flesh-eating monsters. Inconvenient like taking a bullet for that same man only to be pushed off a cliff by him afterwards. Even after Will threw them off the cliff, Hannibal still wants him alive. He’s managed to keep him alive for six months and at least two of those occurred during a severe public health crisis at best. He can’t begin to imagine what else Hannibal’s been through while he was dead to the world. It’s beginning to sound like Hannibal’s compassion for him is not only inconvenient but also just as undying as the hordes of ambulatory corpses they’re trying to avoid.

Before he can talk himself out of it, Will reaches for the hand Hannibal isn’t using to drive. He answers the question in Hannibal’s face with a tight squeeze, then turns his attention back to the road. No matter what's become of the world now, he won't be leaving Hannibal's side again. He won't let anyone have him, nor will he let him leave on his own.

Whatever happens, they’ll face this new world together.


	2. In Moderation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The trio continues their journey towards the mystery safehouse, but are forced to take a detour. They discover something awful while searching for supplies, and Will resents the power of his cruel imagination.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please check the tags before continuing. I managed to make myself quite upset when I wrote *that* scene here, and I want everyone reading to be prepared for it. If the tags have you worried or are not enough info, feel free to check the end notes for a better warning.

Hannibal pulls over a couple hours later so they can eat. The road has been mostly clear so far, save a few wandering undead here and there. Will can only assume Hannibal planned their path in advance as nothing they encounter seems to surprise him–not even the smoldering remains of a crashed plane blocking the highway. Hannibal had known to veer off course in favor of the scenic route long before either Will or Brian had noticed it.

As they pull everything edible out of the trunk, taking stock of their inventory, it becomes apparent that Hannibal is less than pleased with what they have.

“There a problem?” Will asks him, sneaking a glance at Brian, who has remained suspiciously quiet for far too long. 

“Not enough water,” Hannibal admits, “Not for where we’re going.”

“You still haven’t told me where.”

“I told you it was a safe house,” Hannibal says rather unhelpfully as he shuts the trunk, startling Brian back to life.

“Where are we? What’s going on?”

“Were you asleep this whole time?” Will asks, certain Brian’s eyes had been open for most of the drive.

“Uh...maybe? I don’t know, I just sort of drifted in and out. What are we doing?”

“Breakfast,” Hannibal says, “Though I must apologize in advance; this is not the sort of fare I would ever subject my guests to, were I not in such a bind.”

“You mean to say you didn’t swap that bologna with human meat while I wasn’t looking?” Brian asks, reluctantly taking a sandwich from Hannibal.

“As much as I would love to have access to a suitable kitchen in which to make human bologna, I should think it obvious that I do not.”

Will eyes the lunch box Hannibal holds suspiciously, curious as to why he hasn’t set it down even as he bites into his own sandwich. As for the one Will’s made himself, it’s more than satisfactory. He’s honestly glad to just be using his taste buds again after so long. The first swig of water he washes a mouthful down with is such a relief he can feel his eyes stinging a bit.

“You know what,” Brian says, staring remorsefully at his sandwich, “I’m actually not hungry right now.”

Hannibal nods. “That’s fine, you can just save it for later,” he says, removing the still-whole sandwich from Brian’s hands before slipping it into a plastic bag and replacing it inside the lunchbox. 

Perhaps Will’s brain is simply bored after six months of rest, or perhaps Will himself just wants to start something for the hell of it. Whatever the reason, Will makes a mental note to demand Hannibal tell him what he’s hiding. He could be seeing things that aren’t there, but Hannibal is rarely one to act without conscious thought or reason. Having the lunchbox at the ready in case they needed it before they were finished eating, only for that to come true less than a minute later, could be passed off as a coincidence if it were anyone else. This is Hannibal, though: master planner and manipulator. If it means something, no matter how trivial, Will wants to know.

“We’ll need to find more water, or at least a suitable substitute before long,” Hannibal says as he starts the car again, “We’re rationing what we have up front just fine, but what remains in the trunk will barely last us until we reach our destination.”

“Is there water there?” Will asks, desperate for any sort of info.

“There may be,” Hannibal says as he pulls back onto the road, carefully avoiding a fallen tree branch, “But I cannot say for sure. I haven’t been there in some time.”

“So you don’t even know what it’ll be like when we get there,” Brian mutters, “Great.”

Irritated by his unwanted yet admittedly valid input, Will turns around in his seat to look at him. Brian is slow to meet his eyes, looking like he hasn’t quite woken up yet.

“You’re free to leave if you have a better plan,” Will suggests, acting like he knows more than he’s letting on, “Would probably make things easier for us in the long run.”

Brian raises a skeptical eyebrow at him. “Leave? Like, get up on my own two feet and walk away? Ha!” He laughs, shaking his head. “You two may be acting civil right now, but I’m no fool. There’s no way in hell you’d just let me  _ leave _ when you’re low on food.”

Will hums thoughtfully, then shrugs. “Figure of speech.”

He turns back around, eyes drawn towards the  _ tap-tapping  _ sound of Hannibal’s fingers on the steering wheel. He never gave much attention to such a thing before, but Will is realizing now that such actions may in fact be a sign of nervousness. He can’t imagine what about Brian’s statement would make Hannibal nervous, though, and there’s no way he can ask while Brian can clearly hear him. Devoid of other ideas, Will reaches out for those still-tapping fingers and grabs a hold of them. He makes a show of uncurling them enough to lace their fingers together, much like he did earlier. This time, though, Hannibal doesn’t react with anything more than a rather quiet clearing of his throat.

Certainly it’s not Brian himself he’s concerned about? Will looks at the man in question through the rearview mirror. As the car emerges from underneath the dense canopy of the woods, allowing the morning sun to pierce through the windshield, Will can finally see Brian’s face clearly. He does  _ not _ look well: pale as a ghost, shadows under his eyes so dark they look almost unnatural, and sweating so much he appears to be melting. He’s clearly sick.

“Hey, you alright back there?” Will asks unnecessarily.

“Fine,” Brian hisses through clenched teeth, “Just, uh. Think I might have a fever or something.”

“If you say so…” Will glances towards Hannibal, who nods almost imperceptibly.

Perhaps letting Brian walk away wouldn’t be such a bad idea after all. He can’t believe Hannibal hasn’t already made him leave–or better yet, killed him. Just who  _ is _ this man, and what has he done with the real Hannibal Lecter? 

Will looks back at Brian once more, making sure he hasn’t already joined the ranks of the undead within the past minute. He looks rough but he’s clearly still alive. Satisfied, Will straightens up again. He then reaches for his knife where it lies in the floorboard. They know next to nothing about how any of this works, so it can’t hurt to be safe.

The drive is quiet once more, save for the occasional gunshot or distant scream. Hannibal stops the car at an intersection about an hour later to contemplate the debris blocking what must have been their intended path forward.

“Know a way around?” Will asks, though the answer is obvious.

“No, but it appears there is a small grocery store nearby,” Hannibal says, gesturing at the large sign on Will’s side of the road. “There may be water there.”

“Or it could already have been cleared out. Or heavily populated by the recently deceased. Or even as inaccessible as the road ahead of us. Or–”

“We need water, Will.”

“I recognize that. I’m not saying we shouldn’t go, just that we should come up with at least a basic plan before we rush in.”

Hannibal nods. “There are many unknowns here. The best we can do to start is scope the location out from a distance, take note of any dangers and plan accordingly.”

“What about…?” Will nods at Brian, who appears to be asleep again.

“Could still be of some use for now, though he’s ought to be rather thirsty with all that sweating he’s been doing.”

“Didn’t seem hungry earlier,” Will points out. Not for regular human food, at least.

“They still drink water,” Hannibal says.

“Really?”

“I saw a group of them stop at a stream once to drink. They continued on for quite some time; it made me wonder if they don’t somehow store extra water in a manner similar to that of a camel.”

“They’d be fascinating if they weren’t essentially taking over the world I guess.”

Hannibal nods, then makes a right turn. They drive through mostly farmland for a while before the number of buildings per square mile increases dramatically. When it looks to be rather crowded ahead, Hannibal pulls over into a gravel driveway next to an old liquor store. He pulls around the back of the building, parking so that the car is hidden both from the main road in front and the forested area behind. He and Will confirm that Brian is still fast asleep before climbing out to inspect the building.

“Think there’s anything in here?” Will asks.

“One way to find out.”

Instead of trying the boarded-up and chained front door, Hannibal kneels in front of the back door. It’s locked as well of course, but the padlock looks old and rusted.

“There was a pair of bolt cutters in one of those bags, was there not?”

“I’ll check,” says Will.

He opens the driver’s side door again so he can pop the trunk, then rummages around until he finds them. They’re smaller than expected, but should still do the job. Rather than passing them to Hannibal, Will crouches next to him.

“I’ve got it.”

Getting the cutters around the part of the padlock he actually needs to cut is the hard part–once he’s managed that, the cutting itself happens almost instantaneously and the lock drops to the ground with a solid thunk. Will stands and puts a single hand on the door handle but doesn’t pull just yet. He turns to look at Hannibal, but is surprised to see that he’s no longer at his side.

“You’ll need one of these,” Hannibal says, holding out a flashlight, “The power is out across nearly the entire state.”

“Right.”

Will takes the proffered flashlight then pulls the door open quickly, trying to get as much space between himself and whatever may or may not be on the other side as possible. 

“It seems clear,” Hannibal says, turning his flashlight on, “But it’s better to be safe than sorry.”

He takes three steps forward before freezing up. His nostrils flare as he stares at something inside, making Will more nervous the longer he waits.

“What? What is it?” Will asks impatiently.

“Just a body,” Hannibal says, “But with the conditions inside, the stench is something awful.”

It’s just as he says this that Will catches a whiff of it.

“Yeah, that’s not something I want to hang around for too long. Let’s just do a quick sweep, grab what we can and run.”

Will releases the door handle but immediately grabs onto it again to keep it from hitting Hannibal, who still isn’t moving inside yet. Is the smell really that bad?

“Hannibal?”

He does move then, stepping inside quickly yet cautiously. Will immediately follows after him.

“Looks like this stuff went pretty quick,” Will says as he scans the mostly empty shelves for a glimpse of anything worth taking, scrunching his nose up as the smell starts to get a little overpowering. 

He sees a bottle of Jack Daniel’s and reaches up for it, only to see that it’s empty. The few bottles around it are also empty with some of them being shattered. There’s bits and pieces of shattered glass and spilled liquid all over the floor as well. He stands up on his tiptoes to peer over the second shelf on his right and spies a sawed off shotgun lying on the front counter, ripe for the taking.

“Hey, there’s a gun–”

Will grunts as he collides with Hannibal’s back. He didn’t expect the other man to still be standing in the same spot–almost like he’s been paralyzed by something. 

“Hannibal? Is something wrong?”

There’s no response at first; not until Will places a hand on his shoulder and pulls Hannibal around to face him.

“What’s gotten into you?”

Hannibal swallows heavily, looking a little haunted. “The body…”

“...Yeah?”

Hannibal closes his eyes with a weary sigh and steps to the side, out of the way. Will stops breathing momentarily as the crumpled, deteriorating form of what was once a young girl comes into view. Will tries to seal off that part of his mind which connects and jumps and understands but it’s too late: he  _ sees. _

Loneliness. Anxiety. Fear. Loss of innocence. Hunger. Thirst. Desperation. Acceptance.

Will nearly collapses with the intensity of it all, but Hannibal holds him up with a strong, warm hand under his elbow. It’s more comforting than it has any right to be, and yet he’s still shaking. He’s still crying, still gasping for air.

“Look away, Will.” Hannibal moves in front of him again, blocking his sight. “Look at me instead.”

Will tries his best to, but the image of the girl is stuck to the insides of his eyelids. The smell of her corpse is growing stronger and Will understands now why all the bottles are empty and broken. He wishes he couldn’t see it, wishes he could just turn around and forget her but he  _ can’t. _

“Move,” Will says, wiping his nose with his sleeve.

“Will, I don’t think–”

“ _ Move _ ,” Will repeats, all but shoving Hannibal out of the way.

He keeps his sleeve up against his nose as he approaches her, though it doesn’t help much with the proximity. The child wears a bedazzled unicorn tank top and kid jeans with an adult-sized brown suede coat draped over her shoulders. There’s a bit of blood on her top and the coat appears quite old. The smell and the discoloration of her skin suggests she’s been deceased at least for a few days now, and her left leg is twisted at an unnatural angle. Scattered on the floor around her are various bottles, all of them empty save for the one nearest to her open hand: the one she’d been working on when she died.

It’s safe to say they won’t find any water here.

Will turns away from the girl with great effort in order to retrieve the shotgun. He opens the action, seeing that it is indeed loaded. A quick search behind the counter reveals that there are a few cases of matching ammunition. He climbs back over the counter with the intent to leave, but a few shards of blood-stained glass catch his attention.

“Are you finished?” Hannibal asks as he comes to stand next to him. “We’ll need to get moving again soon if we want to reach our destination before we drain our water supply.”

“It’s that far?” Will asks, less interested in what the other man has to say than he is in the subtle trail of blood he’s following with his eyes, up to a tiny broken window on the wall opposite the stairs.

Fear. Loss of Innocence. Thirst.

Will is distantly aware of the strangled cry which escapes him as the scene plays out in his mind, but he’s too horrified to care. It was no more than bad luck and awful, childish judgement that killed the girl in the oversized coat. She was separated from her parent or guardian–likely her father, judging by the coat–and was chased to this building by the undead. There was no clear path around so she climbed. Either the horde didn’t leave or she was too frightened to climb back down for some other reason, and she caught sight of all the shelves inside through that tiny window. Thinking she’d found a regular grocery store and somewhere safe, she smashed the window and jumped through. She clearly didn’t account for how high the jump was nor how she landed, as she must have broken her leg in the process. She crawled at first once the screaming stopped and the real desperation kicked in. Avoided the bottles at the bottom in favor of something edible. Used the last of her strength to pull herself up on her undamaged leg, leaning against the shelves as she continued her search for food. Collapsed onto the floor once more when she realized where she was.

She hated alcohol; particularly beer. Her father was a kind, loving man but he was different when he drank. She hated that he did. She didn’t want any of it, not even to quench her thirst. She cried, pounded her fists against the floor, smashed as many bottles as she could against the walls and watched the alcohol drip, drip, drip. She gave in, chugged a bottle of something fruity first. She didn’t feel so bad so she drank another, and another. Started to feel awful and alone, so alone. The drinks only made it worse, she couldn’t see why her father loved them so much. She ran out of things she could tolerate but she still wouldn’t touch the beer. No, she’d die before she touched it. 

Every day she pulled herself over to the window and screamed for help. There was rarely ever a response, never the kind she needed. She searched around the store for something to use as a ladder–though her leg was out of commission, her determination was not. She refused to die in a liquor store. The world may be ending but her father was still out there somewhere, looking for her. She had to find him.

The doors were locked from the outside; she couldn’t shove them open. The shelves were too heavy; she couldn’t push them. The steel ladder was jammed, only extended far enough for her to reach the windowsill with her fingertips. The mouse she saw was too fast, too slippery. Her voice wasn’t loud enough.

She gave up.

“Come back to me, Will.”

Will returns to himself slowly, wiping fresh tears away with something akin to embarrassment. He realizes belatedly that Hannibal’s got both arms wrapped around him in a tight embrace, only making it worse.

“Sorry,” Will apologizes. “I got lost.”

“Do not apologize for your imagination,” Hannibal says, “As much as I’m sure you hate it right now, it’s one of your best qualities.”

“Yeah, sure. Glad to–glad to hear that. Wanna trade?”

“We should leave.”

Will nods his assent, lets Hannibal guide him back around towards the door. Against his best interest, he glances once more at the corpse as they pass by it. Pays special attention to the half-finished bottle of what he sees now is sweet whiskey.

“Guess you didn’t completely give up,” Will says to her.

Hannibal says nothing, understanding that the words aren’t meant for him. They leave the store, closing the door firmly behind them. Both of them pause at the sight of Brian leaning against the edge of the open trunk, guzzling what appears to be his second bottle of water. He puts the bottle back down with a contented sigh upon noticing their return.

“Was wondering where the hell you two wandered off to.”

Rage overtakes Will instantaneously, and it must show on his face because Brian turns pale as Will crosses the space between them. He flinches hard when Will snatches the water bottle out of his hand, twisting the top back on and tossing it into the trunk just as aggressively.

“We were looking for water,” Will says, “so we’d  _ really _ appreciate it if you didn’t waste what we have.”

“...Technically, it’s  _ my _ water still, I was–”

Will has no patience for this; especially not after what he’s just seen. He grabs Brian by the back of his neck, slamming his head into the corner of the trunk he’d been leaning against. He crumples to the ground, unconscious. Will wants more than anything to kill him now, rather than wait until he burns through all of their provisions and turns. He’s considering his options when Hannibal comes up next to him, crouching in front of Brian. He presses two fingers to Brian’s pulse point, then turns him over so he can check his eyes.

It’s only now that Will realizes Brian looks impossibly better than he did earlier. In fact, he looks about the same as he did when they first found him.

“Everything is normal,” Hannibal says as he rises to his feet, confirming that it isn’t just Will’s imagination. “I’m hesitant to believe it, but he appears healthy now. Even the smell of sickness has left him.”

Something isn’t adding up. 

“Still think he’s useful?” Will asks, crossing his arms in front of him.

“We have no way of knowing,” Hannibal admits, shaking his head. “If he begins to put too much of a strain on our provisions before we can find a good use for him, I will not stop you from killing him.”

“ _ You _ won’t stop  _ me _ ?” Will demands, pointing an incredulous finger at his own chest.

“That is what I said.”

Will frowns at the non-answer but he can’t think of a valid reason to waste precious time demanding Hannibal explain his bizarre stance on this. He shrugs, then walks around to the other side of the car to climb back into the passenger seat. Hannibal’s...personality change, for lack of a better name, is eating Will alive. He needs to know what the hell has happened to make the man so unlike himself, zombie apocalypse be damned. He doesn’t have the first clue how to go about asking in a way that won’t just cause Hannibal to shut down, though. Perhaps it’ll be easier once they reach this supposed “safe house.”

Hannibal opens the driver’s side back door to haphazardly drop Brian into the backseat. He doesn’t bother sitting him up straight nor putting his seatbelt on. The lack of care fills Will with a spiteful sense of satisfaction, and he doesn’t hesitate to grab Hannibal’s hand once he’s in the driver’s seat again. If Hannibal thinks anything of this constant physical contact Will’s initiating, he makes no indication of it whatsoever. It’s preferable this way, really. Will’s not quite sure he understands it himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning (Spoilers): There is a scene here after they break into the liquor store where Will sees and heavily empathizes with the body of a young girl who got trapped and died of dehydration. There is a detailed explanation of how she came to be there, what her thoughts were, how she felt, etc. and it's all quite heavy. If you'd like to skip past this scene, stop reading after "Hannibal? Is something wrong?" and start reading again at 'Hannibal says nothing, understanding that the words aren't meant for him.'

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on:
> 
> ninpotato.tumblr.com [SFW]  
> twitter.com/NinPotato1 [NSFW - Main]  
> instagram.com/ninpotato [SFW - Art Account]


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